


Finally, At Last, You Jerk

by Hoodoo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Rick's a jerk, Frottage, I imagined Rick C-137 but it can be any Rick you want, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Then he makes it better, Then he makes it worse again, Then there's a happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You like Rick. He finds out, is a d-bag, then wants to make up for it.





	Finally, At Last, You Jerk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MUDAxolotl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUDAxolotl/gifts).



> A request was made for a Rick + male reader story. I hope this fits the bill!

You wish he’d never found out.

But Christ almighty—who you would be told was just a charismatic guy with a good origin story—this was _Rick._ Of course he was going to find out.

When he did, he teased you. You could tell it was a ‘friendly’ tease, a tease that he’d only do with people he could stand in his life versus a hard-core, meticulous put-down that was designed to tear the person he abhorred to shreds, but even ‘friendly’ teases hurt.

Then, after another flippant comment about what he calls your puppy love of him, you’d had enough.

“Fuck you, Rick!” you exploded. “Fuck you, fuck off—shut your fucking mouth!”

You actually surprised him. It wasn’t often he was speechless. It wasn’t often he didn’t have an immediate response. In his shocked silence, you can’t seem to help but continue.

“You can’t fucking understand! You don’t know how hard it is to be around someone and like them— _really like them_ —and to have them just continually blow you off! When you treat me like I can’t possibly be smart enough to know what I want—that’s just really shitty, Rick. You can’t possibly fathom how I feel, and you making these snide little comments about the situation is just the fucking worst!”

Your heart is racing, and you’re panting, and your eyes are suddenly filled with tears you didn’t want. 

Rick still doesn’t say anything, just watches you mutely. Now you can’t see anything anymore due to the tears, and you stomp from the room.

You hate it. You want to hate him. 

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Later, deep in the night, somebody tries your door. You haven’t been sleeping; too many things are leaving heavy footprints in your brain, and your nose is still stuffy. You feel a thousand times worse than you did earlier.

“Go away,” you croak.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. It’s Rick. He just does what he wants, when he wants. That’s his _thing._ He just jaunts around through the universe, causing havoc, living like no one else matters—

“Hey,” he says as he enters your room. He shuts the door behind himself and sits down, uninvited, on the edge of your bed.

“Leave me alone,” you tell him angrily.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s probably here to make you feel worse and explain, _mathematically,_ why he’s right to say what he said, and that emotions are for simpering fools, and—

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, simply. “I was wrong to s-say those things.”

You shift a little to look at him. Your room is lit only by the gibbous moon outside, throwing everything into grey tones. Rick isn’t looking at you, but at his hands clasped together in his lap. You’re not quite sure what to say to his apology; it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.

“I thought about what you said, and you’re right. I can’t understand your feelings for me. Because . . . it-it makes no sense. I didn’t drive you away with my shitty personality, and on top of that, I’m old. I never thought I would be this _old,_ with a bald spot and wrinkly skin and weird dark spots on my hands. I can’t understand how someone could be attracted to this old body—“ He cuts off his own explanation to finally look at you. “But you really are, aren’t you?”

If he’s being manipulative, it’s the only time you’ve ever heard him also sound a little bit self-conscious. Like he’s scared of your answer.

You sigh, and feel resigned. “Yes, Rick. I am. I am attracted to you. Does that make you feel better?”

He actually flinches at the spitefulness in your voice.

“Y-yes, but no,” he answers, hurrying through his answer before you have a chance to lay into him again. “I . . . it’s . . . listen, if I can give you what you want, for tonight, would that make up for the shit I was saying? That I said? If I can do that, could you forgive me?”

You have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. You’re so tired.

“Sure, Rick, whatever,” you tell him in a dull voice.

Your agreement seems to perk him up. He immediately turns to you on the bed and takes your arm, pulling it out from under the blanket, while he fishes something out of his lab coat’s pocket.

“Okay-okay, I’m going to give you an injection—“

“What?!” 

You struggle against him.

“—just trust me, okay? Just give me one second—“

You’re trapped under the blanket and Rick has leverage on his side, and even through your protests he jams a needle into your upper arm. You howl at the sharp pain and continue to try to fight him off, even while whatever was in his unmarked syringe starts taking effect.

“There’s a little-I put some sedative in it too,” Rick explains, leaning over you. “I thought that would be best. It’ll only last a little while, then you’ll be awake before you know it, but . . . I just thought maybe, if this doesn’t go well—“

As he’s talking his voice starts drifting softer, as if you’re moving further and further away from him. Your vision darkens around the edges until there’s only a pinpoint of it left, and you’re out.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Waking up, Rick is still leaning over you. Your room is still dark and the moon seems to be in the same place in the sky.

“Welcome back,” Rick says. “I told you you’d only be out for a little while!”

Like that was a bonus. He still stuck you with a needle full of alien virus or whatever—

“I hope I’m not too forward, but—“

He finishes his sentence by dropping his head to yours and kissing you.

You’re still angry about being injected and push at him, but you’re still mostly trapped by the blankets. His tongue nudges your lips, and your jaw automatically loosens. His tongue dips inside and finds yours, and abruptly this kiss is deep and you still want to grab him, but to make sure he doesn’t stop.

You kiss until you have no oxygen left and have to break contact. In the dim light, Rick’s pupils are dilated. You hope it’s from arousal.

He kisses you again, feverishly, and you return it with the same fervor. Suddenly you’re both wearing too much clothing. You kick at the blanket and sheet covering you; he’s trying to shimmy out of his lab coat and turns it inside out in his haste. His shirt pulls over his head, making it necessary to stop kissing again for an agonizing moment, but then he’s naked from the waist up and you drag him down beside you.

His skin is warm and soft and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as you clutch him closely. Rick hikes himself up on one elbow to drape over you and continues to lavish you with his mouth—you should have guessed that he was this talented. His mouth has the hint of alcohol from the vodka he swigs, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Eventually, he trails his lips to your cheek and jaw and earlobe. Here he nips, making you gasp, and he whispers, 

“I want to hear that—and more—from you, baby.”

The vibration from his voice so close to your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles.

He latches on to your neck and you arch against him.

His hands haven’t been idle. Of their own volition they work the small buttons of your pyjama top and spread it open, then you’re pressed chest to chest with him. 

He scratches over a nipple and you return the favor, earning yourself a deep moan, so you use your fingernails to pinch his a little more sharply. They harden to pebbles as you continue.

Rick pushes impatiently at the elasticized pants you’re wearing. You take a moment to help and quickly they’re down and kicked off your ankles. Since this was a forced breather, you also unbuckle his belt and work at his fly; it’s frustrating that it’s not coming undone as swiftly as either of you would like so he stands up, does it himself, and dumps his pants and briefs on your floor.

He slides back into bed beside you and captures your mouth again. 

You slip your hands around him. He is remarkably slender and like he said, obviously old, but you love touching him. You scratch his back, you grab his ass, you run your fingers through the tangle of his hair, and you press yourself from shoulder to toe to him, wishing to be as close as humanly possible.

His erection lies heavily against yours.

He tilts his hips. The sensation at your groin makes you gasp again, and again, he chuckles. 

You take his lower lip in your teeth and Rick smiles through your playful bite.

Gently shaking himself out of your grip, he says, 

“Try this, instead.”

He offers his hand to you. It confuses you a moment, until he presses two fingers to your mouth. With a little pressure, he wriggles them between your lips. When you’re still unsure what, exactly, he wants, he rocks his pelvis again. With the resulting involuntary gasp, he slips them passed your teeth and onto your tongue.

Through the sparks of pleasure radiating from your cock, it dawns on you what he wants. You suck his fingers, alternating light pressure to a heavy force that makes him groan. When you take a breath he adds another, and you work to coat all three with saliva. His hand tastes a little salty from sweat and his fingertips are slightly rough and calloused against the smoothness of your tongue. 

“Good . . .” he praises, then withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his thumb. 

You repeat the process. At some point he’s satisfied and removes it from your mouth with a soft ‘pop.’

You have no idea what he may be thinking. Your breath is rapid and so is your heart rate, and you feel flushed. Rick’s so close even the pale light is enough to make him easy to see, and his expression is similar to yours: slightly needy, breathless, excited. He opens the hand you’ve just showered with attention and licks his own palm. He doesn’t neglect the area between his thumb and forefinger, covering it heavily in spit.

Watching him lick his own hand is something you’d never imagined would be so erotic.

Then, when his hand is wet to whatever standard he thinks is met, he reaches down between the two of you and wraps it around both your cocks.

Those thin, strong fingers send an electric jolt through your core. You thought you’d hit a new high of pleasure—at least until he started stroking, using long, even pulls from base of your shafts to tips, then back again.

You cry out and buck against him. He grins and finds your mouth again, swallowing the noises you can’t help making.

The sensation of his cock against yours, of his hand leisurely caressing you both, is divine. You can’t stop the reflex of trying to push against him, trying to get more of that delicious friction that he seems so damn miserly about giving—you want quick, you want tighter, you want more, more—

Rick chuckles at your desperate little movements and needy whimpers.

“Oh, you like that, baby? You want me to jerk us off a little faster?” 

He torments you by increasing the speed the tiniest amount, and varying the pressure of his hold. 

You find your tongue. “Y-yes, goddamn it, yes!” 

“I like it when you swear at me,” he confesses in a husky whisper. “Earlier, when you told me to fuck off, I heard, ‘fuck _me,_ Rick’. I like it when you swear, I like it when you make those impatient little gasps when I do this—“

His hand paused, and squeezed the heads of your cocks. As if on cue, you gasp.

“—yeah, just like that baby, just like that—“

His suggestive banter just frustrates you more, especially since his pace hadn’t really increased like you want it to. Like you _need_ it to. If this torture was his ridiculous way of getting himself off without any end for you—

Rick squeezes you both again, and stops completely. A whiny moan escapes you. You open your eyes to find him also breathing with an open mouth. Spit makes his lower lip shiny in the moonlight.

With a soft noise, he releases his grip. A new sound, a distressed sound, a sound you didn’t know you could make, wells up. But Rick takes it in again, like he did before, kissing you deeply. It’s hurried this time, harried, like he’s desperate too, but that can’t be, this is Rick and he’s a bastard and self-centered and is such a fucking tease he’s probably doing this on purpose—

“Help me with this, baby, you gotta, you gotta—“

Rick pulls away from you, leaving the skin you had pressed against him chilly. Before you can protest or curse him, he flips you to your side and hoists himself half over you.

“Not too heavy, am I baby?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

“What? No, you asshole—“ you growl. This is a new angle; laying a bit on your chest, his pelvis canted over yours, his cock now pressed against yours in a different-but-just-as-good way. You can’t complete your answer because he rocks himself against you, and the contact is heavenly.

“Good, baby, so good . . .” he mutters, losing himself in the feeling for a moment. 

He shakes himself out of it. Giving the same hand that’s been pleasuring the both of you another swabbing with his tongue, he grasps the two erections and pulls again. After a shuddering moan, he manages to open his eyes to yours again.

“Help me, baby,” he repeats.

You’re frozen for a moment.

“Come on, baby, help me—I wanna, wanna feel your hand, fuck, I want you to—“

He doesn’t need to explain any more. Hastily you lick your own palm and drop your hand to your groin, entwining your fingers with his to wrap around your cocks.

“Fucking hell—“ he swears, and drops his head a little.

You can’t even form words. The combined pressure is almost too much to take. Then Rick starts moving his hand again, and those sparks of pleasure you’d been feeling up until now erupt into full-blown fireworks that rocket through your body. 

He wanted you to help, but you feel weak under the sensations and let him control the pace and pressure. There is no more easy, controlled stroking; your hand on his cock seems to have broken whatever constraint he may have previously had. His wrist—and yours, by default—moves in a brisk, almost frantic tempo. Your breath comes in ragged gasps. His is punctuated by moans in time with what he’s doing to you.

The blend of heavy strokes, the friction of his cock against yours, and his thumb occasionally swiping over the head of your cock is overwhelming. Your abdomen tenses and you try to tell him, try to warn him that you’re not going to be able to stop—

“Yeah baby, oh yeah, come for me,” Rick encourages throatily.

With a sobbing cry, you do.

Your come spurts upward, hitting his belly. Rick laughs, then stutter-stops, then he ejaculates too, a deep moan from the bottom of his lungs filling the air as he does. His come dribbles over your hands, and gushes out in little surges, timed with the pulsing of his cock. 

You let him take the time he needs. Finally, shaky, he eases back down to your side on the mattress. Carefully you release your grip and he does the same. Stretching to reach for the tissues beside your bed, you hand a few to him.

“S-sorry about that,” he says sheepishly, as you wipe each finger individually to clean them.

“What?”

“I’m old. Don’t have the distance you have,” he explains with a self-depreciating chuckle, indicating the ejaculate you’ve left on below his navel. “Not like I used to, anyway.”

“That is the absolute least thing from my mind,” you tell him truthfully.

“Oh.” 

You both finish dabbing the wet from yourselves. You take the dirty tissues from him, wad them up, and toss them in the direction of your wastebasket. You settle back beside him, and wonder what might happen next. 

You hear him lick his lips. “So . . . what _were_ you thinking about? If my pathetic showing of a climax was the least thing in your mind, what’s at the forefront?”

You weren’t expecting that question, but decide to answer honestly. 

“I was thinking about what happens now . . . no, you know what? I want to know what you fucking injected into me!”

“Ah . . .” he hesitates.

“Tell me, Rick!”

He sighs. “It was a few million nanomites.”

“What?!”

He hurries to calm you down. “It was just-just-just something so if this was-was, you know . . . _horrible_ I could have them wipe your memory of it.”

“Holy _shit,_ Rick, what the fuck!” You can’t believe it. He really was the worst, most selfish human being on the planet. You make to push him out of the bed.

“No, no, no!” he insists, trying and succeeding in grabbing your hands. “If it was horrible for _you,_ baby, if being with my old scrawny body was too gross and you hated it, if you couldn’t stand it, if you hated what happened—if you felt dirty and _didn’t want to remember—“_

He shuts his mouth with a snap, and even in the dark you can see the wretchedness that crosses his face. You’re speechless, again. It’s a familiar state of being around Rick.

“They’re gonna wipe your short term memory. It’s automatic,” he tells you despondently.

You try to wrap your head around this. “But-but you said _if_ it was horrible you _could_ make me forget! That’s what you said! Not that it was _automatic!”_

“There is-I have a deactivation,” he admits quietly. “But you don’t have to make me feel better. I knew this was just a one-night thing. I told you that, didn’t I? At the start—“

“Goddamn it, Rick— _I want you to deactivate them!”_ you snap.

Your bark seems to startle him. 

“You-you d-do?”

“Goddamn it, yes! Yes!”

“It’s another injection—“

“I don’t care! I don’t want to forget this! Give me the injection! Give me the syringe and I’ll do it myself!”

He doesn’t seem to believe you. “I get it. You don’t have to do this. You’re a nice person, and you think you’re being nice to me—“

You don’t try to reason with him anymore. You grab his head and kiss him harshly: your tongue thrusts through his lips, laps at his, licks his hard palate. You end it with the same bitey little lower lip grab as you’d done before.

Rick’s pupils are still dilated. You’ve stolen his breath.

“It’s another shot,” he tries to protest, one more time. 

Once again you kiss him hungrily. 

“I don’t want this to end,” you tell him, after he has to catch his breath again. “If you just did this tonight to make _me_ feel better, then do it. Make me forget. But if you did it because _you_ have some feelings for me, if _you_ liked it, if _you_ want it to go on . . . if you weren’t just doing it because you felt bad for _me¸_ then give me that injection. I want to remember this. I want to know how good you made me feel, I want to remember you coming on my hand. I want to do it again. I want to do you again. I want you, Rick Sanchez.”

It’s probably the longest, most heart-felt speech you’ve ever given him. He searches your face one last time, and you can see the belief in your words on his face.

“I have it right here,” he tells you quietly. 

He leaves your side for a moment, reaching down and rummaging through his disheveled coat. He comes up with another syringe. The liquid inside glimmers in the moonlight. 

“You’re sure . . .?” he hedges. 

You twist to offer your upper arm. “Yes.”

He jabs you quickly, and there’s that same sharp pain in the muscle as before. Then he flicks his wrist and the syringe clatters somewhere to the floor, across the room. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to find his mouth while you wait for the feeling of heavy sleepiness like before. 

He kisses you lightly and says with a grin, “I didn’t put any sedative in that one, baby.”

You pull his hair out of spite, just a little, and kiss him again and again, until you’re both laughing and out of breath.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I am well aware that Rick has an invention that wipes memories. However, I thought if he brandished _that_ at the reader, there would be much more pushback and fighting than him just sneaking in an injection. Maybe those nanomites were developed for someone else he wanted to automatically erase short term memory? Hmm . . .
> 
> And hey. I take requests! hmu


End file.
